Infinite Possibilites
by tfm
Summary: Spencer Reid has been killing women for fifteen years. What happens when he sets his sights on a member of the BAU? AU; if Reid's childhood had gone a little differently. COMPLETE. Gen.
1. Chapter 1

Infinite Possibilities

_**Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer; nothing is more difficult than to understand him.**_

_Fyodor Dostoevsky_

***

I

At the age of eleven years, seven months and thirteen days, Spencer Reid killed his first human being.

It wasn't quite the same as killing animals. Yes, animals fought back. They screamed. They bled. But there wasn't that feeling of utter ecstasy as you felt their life slip away beneath your fingertips. With humans, you got that.

Amber White was nine years old when Spencer stabbed her in the heart. He knew where the heart was, of course, but it was another thing altogether to try and stab someone there. It took him several tries, his tiny hands sticky with fresh young blood.

How did Spencer Reid justify this death? He saw her taunting eyes. Knew that she was mocking him, just like the rest. He wanted to know if it would feel as good to have their blood on his hands as well.

The Las Vegas Police Department never caught the man who killed Amber White.

He was always one step ahead.

***

_Quantico, Virginia. Fifteen years later._

Morgan sat at the conference table, stirring sugar into his coffee. According to JJ, who was still on the phone with the LVPD, this was a bad one.

They'd dug up a killing ground, bodies going back almost ten years. They had all been stabbed to death.

The Las Vegas Police Department had called the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The ball was in the BAU's court.

'What do we have?' Prentiss sat down next to Morgan, her own coffee tightly gripped.

'Ten year dump site,' Morgan replied. 'Vegas. That's all I know.'

Hotch and Rossi soon joined them. Both senior agents had long since learnt to function without the influence of caffeine. It was an addiction isolated to the younger members of the team.

'Las Vegas, Nevada.' JJ began the briefing with the location. 'The bodies of nearly fifty women, some missing as long as ten years. On most, the rate of decomposition is too severe to show a preliminary cause of death, but the more recent bodies indicate that these women were stabbed to death.'

'Raped?' asked Prentiss.

'No.'

'Lack of sexual aggression could be the result of impotence. He's using the stab wounds as a substitute.'

'Have any of the bodies been identified yet?' asked Hotch.

'A few. There are a lot to work through, and in some cases, they only have dental records to rely on. So far it's a mixture of teens and women in their twenties and thirties. The decomposed bodies are consistently younger.'

'So as he grows, so does his preference,' concluded Rossi.

'That's what it looks like,' JJ agreed. She stared at the screen. The depths of human depravity never failed to horrify her. She wondered what kind of sick, twisted person could do something like this.

She always wondered.

***

At first, when he his dump site had been compromised, he had sworn. He went to a lot of effort to find that place, and now he would have to find a new one all over again.

Then he learnt that the FBI was coming to investigate him. The FBI was coming to find out just who killed all those women.

Spencer Reid cracked a smile.

He did enjoy a challenge.


	2. Chapter 2

Infinite Possibilities

_**There is no great genius without some touch of madness.**_

_Seneca_

***

II

Spencer Reid had grown confident about himself long before his first kill. Nonetheless, he kept up the façade of shyness, of awkward genius. His adolescent mind knew that if he didn't, he would be the first person they asked about the lifeless bodies of snakes and lizards, of the mysterious fires that seemed to spring up about the place.

When he discovered that the FBI were coming to town, a plan formulated in his mind. He would leave them a gift – a whore? A stripper?

He had a few hours to make up his mind.

***

As soon as they stepped off the jet, they felt the desert heat consume them, though the sun had barely risen. Beads of perspiration marred otherwise perfect professionalism.

'Pretty hot,' commented Morgan unnecessarily.

They had thrown about ideas on the jet, but without a full grasp of victimology, it was all just speculation. A white male, definitely. Between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five. Intelligent.

'It's amazing,' commented Prentiss from the passenger seat of the second SUV.

'What's that?' Morgan tapped the steering wheel in rhythm, waiting for Hotch, Rossi and JJ to pull out in front of them.

'That someone can be killing for so long without people really noticing.'

'Not everyone's a profiler,' he reminded her.

'No,' she said. 'No, I mean…All these women missing, and yet no-one followed through enough to find the dump site. As though they were all just written off as another runaway or something.'

'We're here now, though.' She responded with an indecipherable mumble that might have been accord.

She wondered how many women would die alone before they caught this son of a bitch.

***

No sooner than they had reached the police station, they were whisked away by reports of another body.

Female, approximately thirty-five years old. Multiple stab wounds.

This was not the interesting part. The interesting part was the location of the body. Rather than dumped in a surreptitious location, it had been left out for the world to see.

'He's taunting us,' observed Rossi. 'He wants us to know that he's still here. Wants us to know that he knows _we're _here.'

'She hasn't been dead that long.' Prentiss had knelt next to the body, careful not to disturb any of the evidence. 'Not long enough for rigor to set in.'

'Do we have ID?' Hotch asked the responding officer, who nodded fervently.

'Helena Moon. She's an, uh…exotic dancer. Worked near the Strip.' He scratched his head.

'Victim of opportunity,' concluded Morgan.

'Prentiss, Rossi. Go talk to the other employees at the…' He turned to the officer, who provided the name of the establishment.

'Morgan, go back to the precinct – do what victimology you can. JJ, with me.'

***

The club where Helena Moon had worked was a seedy establishment, no less so under the light of the morning sun.

Some employees were still there, cleaning up the sleaze from the previous night. No amount of cleaning fluid and bleach could wash away that kind of atmosphere.

Prentiss gave a small noise of disgust that was immediately heard by the bartender, washing a cocktail glass.

'You here about the job opening?' he asked. His eyes were roaming.

'No,' Prentiss replied firmly. 'Special Agent Prentiss, this is Special Agent Rossi. We're with the FBI.'

'Oh.' He sounded disappointed. She almost kicked Rossi for the smirk she knew was adorning his face.

'We'd like to speak to the club owner.'

He stared at her for a few more seconds. 'I am the club owner.'

'We'd like to talk to you about Helena Moon.' Emily had stepped back to let Rossi take charge. She knew she wouldn't get an honest answer out of him while he was leering.

'Helena? She's one of my best dancers. Brings in a good crowd. What about her?'

'She was murdered this morning,' Rossi revealed, and the bartender swore. From his tone of voice, he was swearing at the loss of business rather than the loss of human life.

'What time did she leave?'

'She finished at two. Was out by two-thirty.' He had put down the cocktail glass and had started to wipe down the bar in arcing movements.

'Anyone pay an unhealthy amount of attention to her?'

The bartender shrugged. 'I dunno. I was serving drinks all night. I wasn't really paying that much attention.'

'Are any of your other dancers still here?' Prentiss asked of him.

'Yeah.'

'Mind if I talk to them?' She raised an eyebrow, as if challenging him.

'No, go ahead. They should be out back. Hey, Lou,' he called to a tall, muscular man who was mopping the floor. 'Take this…Special Agent out back to see the girls.'

Prentiss rolled her eyes at the tone of his voice, sighing, she followed Lou.

'Were there any unusual customers at all? Anyone who looked out of place in a club like this?'

The bartender shrugged again, as if the investigation was of little concern to him. 'Yeah, probably, I guess.'

'And do you have security footage in here?'

'Sure.'

Rossi nodded. 'I'm going to need those tapes,' he said.

***

He watched them enter the club in silence. They looked efficient – professional. He knew he was smarter than them. He knew he hadn't left a trace behind at that club.

He never went in.

It wasn't his usual victim; he usually went for the less whorish. The ones that thought they were better than him. This victim was a message.

This was a message from Spencer Reid to the FBI, saying:

_I'm smarter than you._

***

She asked them about the bartender first.

'Rick?' replied one of the girls – Candy, her stage name was. 'Oh, Rick's an ass to everyone. Don't feel insulted.'

'How did he act towards Helena? He never gave any indication of wanting to get rid of her?' Prentiss made a few notes. She knew how unlikely it was that Rick was their unsub, yet she wanted to be thorough.

'No, he loved Helena.' A second dancer – Pepper.

'Loved the money she brought in, anyway,' scoffed Candy.

'Was there anyone else? Anyone who might have wanted to kill Helena for any reason?' They had no reason to completely disregard the idea that the killings could have a personal motivation.

'One guy harassed her a couple of times. Pushed his card on her, tried to take her home,' piped up the third girl, Cherith.

'You got a name?'

'Bill Walton, I think the card said.' Cherith looked up, trying to remember. 'He said he was some big shot lawyer. That he'd make it so she'd never have to do this kind of work again.'

'She turned him down?' Prentiss asked as she scribbled down the name provided.

'She didn't do this because she had to,' said Candy. 'She did it because she wanted to. Helena was a good woman. She didn't deserve to die.'

'Thank-you for your time.' Prentiss gave a smile that was half-heartedly returned. 'We'll do our best to catch the man who did this.'

***

JJ and Hotch were talking to everyone in a half mile radius of the second dump site, asking anyone if they had seen anything.

No-one had.

'High volume traffic,' commented JJ. 'They move right through, they only stop to go into the casinos.'

'We'll need to get security footage from the entrances to these places. See if anything was caught on camera.'

***

From this vantage point, he could see them, and they didn't even notice he was there. The four of them were standing in a huddle, talking about him.

They looked somewhat confident, but then, he reasoned, confidence was a façade that would be beneficial for them to maintain.

He didn't want them confident. He wanted them frustrated, scared.

Spencer Reid would certainly make sure that the FBI would remember this investigation.


	3. Chapter 3

Infinite Possibilities

_**The flapping of a single butterfly's wing today produces a tiny change in the state of the atmosphere. Over a period of time, what the atmosphere actually does diverges from what it would have done. So, in a month's time, a tornado that would have devastated the Indonesian coast doesn't happen. Or maybe one that wasn't going to happen, does.**_

_Ian Stewart_

***

III

Spencer Reid was excited – no, excited was too inadequate a word. Spencer Reid was overjoyed. He had thought maybe that the FBI was overworked, that perhaps they'd do a consult and then leave the rest of the work to the Detectives, but no. They had come in all their glory. And it wasn't just any FBI agents; this was the BAU.

He had considered joining the BAU for a while. It wouldn't have been any trouble at all for an intellectual of his caliber. It would have been interesting to see if they were all like he was. If they were all products of their upbringing.

But biology aside, Spencer Reid knew that he could never be anything other than what he was.

***

They returned to the police station, where Morgan had gotten started on victimology. He had spent less and less time in the field lately, citing his need for "intellectual pursuits" as the reason for this. He wasn't fooling any of them. They all knew the real reason. That Derek Morgan had lost his casual confidence the night he had been kidnapped by Tobias Henkel.

'Nineteen victims have been ID'd so far.' He put the list up on the projector screen. 'All white females between the ages of seventeen and thirty-eight. As JJ mentioned before,' he gave a nod to the media liaison, 'our unsub started off with younger victims and worked his way upwards in age.'

'Probably coincided with the unsub's own maturation. He started in his teens.' Rossi spoke with clear self-assurance. Morgan nodded in agreement.

'All of these women were reported missing by a friend or family member. He's not going for the high-risk targets. He likes a challenge.'

'Then what about Helena Moon?' Prentiss spoke up. 'Sure, he's taunting us by putting the body out in the open, but she doesn't exactly fit the victim pattern.' It was a discrepancy that they had acknowledged before, but had not yet discussed in detail.

'I don't think she was about matching the victim types,' postulated Rossi. 'She was a message, to us. He's trying to tell us that we're nothing to him. He's arrogant. He's turning this into a game, and he's making up all the rules.'

***

'Hey, Morgan.' He turned from the whiteboard at the sound of Prentiss calling his name.

'Yeah?'

'I was thinking…since you can't really do much more on victimology until the rest of the lab results get back – did you want to come with me to interview a potential witness?' Truth told, she wasn't sure if Bill Walton was a witness or a suspect, but she did know that Morgan needed to get out, even for just a little bit.

'I…' He hesitated briefly. 'Yeah, I'll come.' He knew what she was doing, and he was grateful for it. Her own experiences matched his in terms of severity – she had spent nearly eleven days trapped in that cult compound, and when she had finally got out, it was difficult to tell the color of her skin beneath the blood and the bruises. He knew the experience had changed her, just as his ordeal with Henkel. It was a bizarre form of solidarity.

Bill Walton lived in a rather impressive looking home. It had expensive vases, expensive paintings, even a rather expensive looking Jacuzzi. The only thing missing seemed to be someone to share it with.

He was a bachelor, and a playboy bachelor at that.

'We'd like to ask you a couple of questions about the death of Helena Moon,' Prentiss started. Walton took a glance at the photo she handed him.

'Dead stripper,' he said. 'So what? I didn't do it.'

'Helena's colleagues suggested that you had some kind of infatuation with her. That you wanted to rescue her from the business, so to speak. Is that true?'

He shrugged. 'I was looking for a trophy wife.'

Prentiss raised an eyebrow. She couldn't understand why some women fell for people like this. Morgan shared her disbelief. Walton, however, was oblivious.

'Say,' he looked first at Morgan then at Prentiss. 'Do you think any of the other dancers would be interested in my offer?'

Ignoring him, Morgan asked, 'Where were you last night between the hours of midnight and four a.m.'

'I was here,' Bill answered, and neither profiler could see even a hint of a lie in his face.

'We'll be in touch,' Morgan told him, handing over his card. 'If you hear anything…' he trailed off.

'Jackass,' Prentiss muttered under her breath as they left the glories of fame and fortune behind them.

***

'Hey Garcia, it's JJ.'

'How's everybody doing?' The technical analyst had been observing the members of the BAU surreptitiously; they were all looking rather stressed as of late. The time spent in the BAU had not been kind to any of them.

'About the same,' answered JJ. 'I need you to go over the footage from the club where Helena Moon worked. See if there's anyone paying an unnatural amount of attention to her.'

'It's a strip club, sweetie. They're supposed to pay attention.'

'This guy wouldn't care about the nudity. He'd be looking for a suitable victim.'

'I'll see what I can do,' sighed Garcia. 'But no promises.'

***

'Freya Woodgate? My name is Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. This is Special Agent Jareau. Could we come in, please?'

The woman before them looked fearful. She had been expecting this visit for nine years, but that still didn't prepare her. She let them in wordlessly.

'This is about my daughter?' she asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

'Your daughter's body was discovered yesterday in a mass grave. I'm sorry.' JJ's voice had a note of false sympathy. So many bodies, so many death notifications, being able to cope became her top priority, cynicism aside.

Freya Woodgate nodded, but no tears came. She had cried so many times since her daughter's disappearance, and to have even the smallest semblance of closure was a relief.

'Was there anyone that might have wanted to kill your daughter? We have suspicions that the killer may have known his victims in some capacity,' Hotch asked. His face was blank from expression, but even his mask couldn't hide the bags under his eyes.

'No,' said Freya. 'No, there was no-one.'

***

He watched as the older man stood next to the whiteboard, examining the profile. A few times, he made changes. Rubbed out bits that didn't work, added things, adjusted other things. Silently, he evaluated this man.

Yes, he was intelligent. But more intelligent than Spencer Reid.

Unlikely.

The older man heard a small sound, and turned.

'Can I help you?' he asked.

Spencer Reid gave a slight jump, more for the sake of the profiler than from actual fear. 'Agent Rossi,' he said, in a tone of faux intimidation. 'My…er…My name is Officer Spencer Reid. They sent me over to help with the case.'

He smiled shyly.

He was going to milk this for all it was worth.

**A/N: Okay, first things first: Characterization is a little off on purpose, just to emphasize the idea that things would be different without Reid around. Some things that happened to Reid happened to other people instead, and some cases that would have been affected a lot by Reid's input would have turned out a lot differently.**

**Secondly, looking today I realized that I have six stories that I'm working on, so I've put up a poll on my profile page if anyone wanted to vote on which I should be prioritizing.**


	4. Chapter 4

Infinite Possibilities

_**Our greatest pretenses are built up not to hide the evil and the ugly in us, but our emptiness. The hardest thing to hide is something that is not there.**_

_Eric Hoffer_

***

IV

Spencer Reid studied the profile with a genuine air of interest. He had read hundreds of books on the subject of Criminology, but it was always more appealing to see it put into practice.

'Cluster B' he said, as if testing out the phrase. 'What does that mean?'

'Cluster B is a series of personality disorders which focus on dramatic emotional or erratic symptoms. With this unsub – that's unknown subject – he's shown to have some characteristics of both Anti-Social personality and Narcissistic Personality disorder.'

'You can tell all of that just by looking at the crime scene?' Spencer Reid feigned awe. 'Wow.'

'Many elements are used in determining the criminal profile,' Rossi explained. 'Including, but not limited to the physical characteristics of the victims, the ways in which our unsub likes to kill, superfluities unique to the killer, the amount of preparation he puts into each kill, and so on.'

Spencer nodded. 'What can I do to help?'

Rossi thought for a second. Hotch and JJ were out doing interviews. Morgan and Prentiss had just returned from talking to Bill Walton, and would soon depart to talk to the countless other families who had lost someone. Strictly speaking, the profilers could very easily handle the situation on their own, but Rossi felt a strange connection with this young officer; a student to his mentor.

'Agents Morgan and Prentiss are leaving now. Sit in on their interviews; see what you can pick up.'

Spencer nodded and left Agent Rossi to his whiteboard. Rossi stared at the list of characteristics underneath Anti-Social Personality Disorder. His pen hovered near the words "Superficial charm."

***

Morgan caught up with Prentiss as she was refilling her travel mug.

'Rossi's sending a uni with us as ride-along,' he told her.

She raised an eyebrow. 'When has Rossi ever done anything like that?' The Rossi they knew was about personal growth – he would instruct, would teach when it was needed, but when it came to opportunity he expected you to get your own ass out the door.

Morgan shrugged. 'There he is.'

Officer Spencer Reid was slim, but by no means gaunt. His muscles were not overdeveloped, nor were they non-existent. His wavy hair curled down to his ears. There was nothing particularly defining about him.

'Hi,' he greeted them. To their ears, it sounded as though he was nervous.

He wasn't nervous.

'Derek Morgan.' He held out a hand for the young officer to shake, which he did so with enthusiasm.

'Emily Prentiss.' The hand-shake was imperceptibly less enthusiastic. Spencer Reid had deep-seated issues with women in his life, a fact that was evidenced by the bodies he had been accumulating.

He wondered if she would be the next one.

***

'So where're you from, Spence?' Morgan made conversation as Prentiss drove to the first location on their list.

'Uh, I was born in Vegas,' he said, with a half-stutter. He found it easier to tell the truth about his origins, or at least part of the truth. 'Dad left when I was ten. My mother raised me.' That was part falsehood – he raising his mother was probably closer to the truth. 'I joined the academy as soon as I finished high school.'

Morgan nodded. He had been to the academy himself after college. 'Got anyone special?' In the driver's seat, Prentiss snorted. It always came back to that with Morgan.

Spencer misinterpreted the sound, but kept his opinions unvoiced. 'No…just Mom, I guess.'

Morgan grinned. 'We can't go abandoning our mothers, now, can we?'

'No,' mused Spencer. 'That we can't.'

***

By the time they got to the sixth name on their list, JJ was growing bored. It didn't help matters that new identifications were being made by the hour, their list burgeoning by gargantuan amounts.

'Do you know of anyone who might have reason to have killed your wife?' She asked the question for what felt like the hundredth time, the only difference being the closing noun. Wife, sister, daughter. Today, she'd used them all.

And yet, the answer remained the same. There was, so far, no discernable connection between any of the victims, apart from the obvious fact that they were victims. Garcia was running all the checks she could, but with this many victims, there was bound to be some overlap.

'I don't think we're getting anywhere with these interviews,' she told Hotch bluntly, and to her surprise, he agreed.

'We need to do them anyway, though,' he added, getting a dark look from JJ.

This would be the death of her.

***

'I don't think she likes me,' Spencer whispered to Morgan as Prentiss walked ahead of them to the house.

'She takes a while to warm up sometimes,' Morgan responded in a voice that was equally low. It wouldn't do to have Prentiss hear them. 'She's got some trust issues.'

'Oh.'

'Though paranoia is an equally accurate term.'

Spencer nodded. 'Of course.'

They stood in a small cluster as Morgan rang the doorbell. After a while, it opened to a disheveled looking man of about forty.

'Mr. Hill?' The disheveled man nodded.

'Agents Morgan and Prentiss, FBI. This is Officer Reid. Could we come in please?'

Reid entered the house with some semblance of curiosity.

He'd never talked to the families before.


	5. Chapter 5

Infinite Possibilities

_**The healthy man does not torture others - generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers. **_

_Carl Jung_

***

V

The day his son was born, William Reid made a promise. He promised that he would always stand by his wife and son. He would nurture them, care for them. He would be there for them.

After ten years, three months and eighteen days, William Reid broke that promise.

He knew his son was intelligent – by three, he was reading, at six he could conduct an intelligent conversation with adults. And yet, when the school wanted to give Spencer a chance to push his boundaries, to learn at the level he was capable of, William refused. He knew that, though fast tracking his son's schooling would be beneficial educationally, it would also fast track emotional growth.

William didn't want that.

Thus, confined to classrooms full of children his own age, with a far inferior intellectual capacity to his, Spencer found other, more creative outlets.

It was these creative outlets that pre-empted William's departure.

Never in his life did William Reid realize how that one decision shaped his son's future.

***

After a day filled with interviews, the conference room was now occupied by the agents of the BAU and members of the Las Vegas Police Department. Spencer Reid was among them. His eyes flittered between the profilers, focusing perhaps a little too much on Prentiss and JJ.

'Our unsub is a white male between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five. He's highly intelligent, but he may choose to hide that intelligence.' Rossi began the profile, his words drawing several raised eyebrows from the assembled crowd.

'He's arrogant,' Morgan continued. 'So much so that he may become careless in his attempts to outsmart us.'

Spencer hid a smirk. _That isn't likely_.

'From the victims that have been identified so far, it's probable that our unsub targets young women of a middle to upper-middle class background. This behavior suggests that there may be a specific individual or action that sparked these killings.'

Spencer thought about it. Was it true? What made him do this? Why did he kill all those women?

He thought back to that day with Amber White. The day his heart soared, and he truly knew his purpose in life. Yes, that was probably it.

His first kill. That unattainable high.

One day, he'd feel that unfettered ecstasy again.

***

'Hey baby girl.' Morgan had put Garcia on speaker-phone, so her words could be heard by all.

'Hey, hot stuff.' A few of the police officers present laughed appreciatively. 'So I checked that strip club footage – never doing that again, by the way – and there were no unusually interested patrons. But…' she added. 'I did take the initiative and check up on unsolved cases.'

In a chair near the back, Spencer Reid tightened imperceptibly.

'In 1993, a young girl named Amber White was stabbed several times. Police never found her killer.'

'Anything since then?' Prentiss asked.

'Nada. Plenty of missing people though.'

'He could have other dump sites,' suggested Prentiss. 'This could be the tip of the iceberg.' The thought didn't particularly please any of them. 'Email us the Amber White file. There might be something in that.'

And indeed, there was something. The morgue photos of Amber White showed the same pattern of stab wounds that had been found on the more recent bodies. In the case of the older, more decaying bodies, they would have to wait until the autopsies were complete. With the sheer number of bodies, that would be a while.

'If Amber White was our unsub's first victim, then her death might be the key to narrowing down our profile.'

Hotch nodded. 'Garcia, are Amber White's family still in the area?'

'Sending you the address now.'

'Good. Morgan, Prentiss, go talk to the family.' He had seen the tired, angry look in JJ's eyes, and knew that she wasn't up for talking to any more distraught individuals today. 'JJ – you can co-ordinate from here.'

JJ gave a nod of appreciation.

'You coming, kid?' Morgan asked Spencer. Spencer looked up in surprise.

He knew that by going with them, he would run the risk of being recognized by Amber's remaining family. The chances were low – it had been fifteen years, after all. He could use the opportunity to divert attention away from himself.

'Yeah,' he said. 'I'll come.'

***

Hotch and Rossi found themselves at the original crime scene – the place where Amber White's body had been discarded fifteen years ago.

'Residential area,' mused Hotch. 'He probably knew her, or at least saw her around the place.'

'Kid was what, nine years old? What could she have done to set off our unsub? He's not a sexually motivated killer.' Rossi knelt down to the ground, brushing it with his fingers. The grass betrayed no secrets. It couldn't tell him that fifteen years ago, a body had lain there, that fifteen years ago a young girl bled to death.

'Our profile puts the age of the unsub between twenty-five and thirty-five. This girl was killed fifteen years ago. What if she was killed by another child?'

Rossi lifted his hand, intrigued by the line of thought. 'So, what – our unsub kills a girl on impulse as a child, and then finds the experience enjoyable, so he keeps doing it, only he tries to hide it. Dumps the bodies out of sight.'

'So we're looking for a child who probably knew Amber White.'

***

Prentiss was making a greater effort to speak to him now. Spencer decided that Morgan must have spoken to her at some point about the matter.

The thought of pushing that knife into her like butter kept his voice amiable. He could wait a little longer.

The door opened to an elderly man – Amber White's grandfather. He must have been nearing ninety.

'Mr. White? Agents Morgan and Prentiss with the FBI. This is Officer Reid.'

'Officer Reid. You look a little familiar young man, do I know you?' The old man leaned forward, his vision failing.

'I'm afraid not.' Spencer gave that shy smile that seemed so endearing to so many. 'You must have me mistaken with someone else.'


	6. Chapter 6

Infinite Possibilities

_**The gods visit the sins of the fathers upon the children.**_

_Euripides_

***

VI

When his shift had finished, instead of going home, Spencer Reid hit the town. The night life in Vegas was like no other; shining neon lights, pounding beats, the incessant sound of slot machines as tourists threw their money to the wind.

Yes, Vegas was a place like no other.

The bodies were piling up.

He found himself itching. He wanted – needed – to kill. He needed to fulfill that urge. He needed to thrust that knife into a chest, have the blood spill out beneath his fingertips. He needed to see the pain, needed to see the fear. It was a primal urge.

An overdeveloped id, the profilers would have characterized it as. A chaos. A cauldron full of seething excitations. He had nothing inside himself to suppress those urges. No moral compass, no conscience. There was no thought, no rationalization.

There was just need.

A figure caught his eye.

Dark hair, sultry eyes. The way she walked, the way she moved. He wondered what it would be like to hear her screaming.

***

'Please, no.' She struggled against his grip, regretting her decision.

It had been so easy to lure her in, to seduce her with just his gaze. And now, he pulled her from the trunk of his car, dragging her into the desert night. His excitation grew as he indulged in her whimpers. He struck her with the back of his hand. The resulting moan only made him more eager to keep going.

To punch and kick, it felt so formulaic. If he had the time, the facilities, he would make a field day out of this. As he turned the woman before him into a bloody pulp, he thought of shining silver instruments. Of whips and waterboardings.

He thought of that screaming. If he had his way, it would last for days. He knew he couldn't do that though. At best, he could torture her while she was gagged. It wouldn't do to have the neighbors get suspicious.

He looked into her eyes. They were fearful, wet with tears.

She looked into his eyes. They were blank, void of emotion.

The blood mixed with her tears. She choked for breath through the crunched bones in her nose.

'Please,' she asked him, begged of him. 'Why are you doing this?'

As he felt the knife penetrate her, felt the slowing of her breaths, felt the blood escape the shackles that had been forced upon it. He felt her life slip away at his behest.

But he thought of the question that she had asked him; why did he do this?

It excited him, yes, but _why_?

He didn't know.

Maybe the FBI could tell him.

***

'Have a good night, kid?' Morgan asked Spencer as the young officer entered the conference room the next morning.

'What was that?' Spencer asked pleasantly. He had been lost in his own thoughts, replaying the memory of last night. It felt good.

'You look giddy. I was wondering if you had a good night.' Morgan wasn't trying to intrude. He felt a strange desire to befriend the young officer.

'Oh.' Spencer smiled. 'There was a _Babylon 5_ marathon on the Sci-Fi Channel last night. I…it was really good.' It was only a partial lie. He had killed the woman, dumped her body, and had gotten home in time to catch the tail end of Season One.

'Yeah,' Morgan laughed. 'I'm pretty sure Emily was watching that instead of sleeping.' He gestured to the coffee jug, at which Prentiss was refilling her mug. There were dark circles under her eyes. She had partaken in the marathon; not out of genuine want, but because of crippling insomnia.

'Emily. Morgan.' JJ came up to greet them. 'They've found another body.'

If they had been looking, they would have seen Spencer Reid's smile widen.

***

'Victim appears to have been beaten severely before being killed,' observed Rossi. It was not that difficult of an observation. Mottled skin surrounded empty eyes.

'Escalation?' wondered Prentiss, 'or a different killer?'

'Stab pattern is the same.' Morgan compared the wounds of their latest victim with a photo of Helena Moon. 'I'd say escalation.'

'Because of us?'

'It's possible.' He felt her pockets, checking for ID. 'Driver's License. Jean Wilkin, thirty-four. Lives in Seattle.'

He stood up. Beside him, Rossi, Prentiss and Spencer stared down at the body. There was no new damning evidence; until the autopsy was complete, until lab results had come back, they had no new leads.

'We'll go back to the station,' announced Rossi. 'Go over the profile. I think we're missing something here.' He started to walk back to the SUV.

'So, kid.' Morgan clapped a hand on the back of Spencer's shoulder. 'You've been doing good work lately. Have you ever considered joining the Bureau?'

'No,' Spencer smiled. 'I haven't.'


	7. Chapter 7

Infinite Possibilities

_**To deny our own impulses is to deny the very thing that makes us human.**_

_Andy Wachowski/Larry Wachowski_

***

VII

Spencer Reid was a slave to his impulses, and right now, his impulses were telling him to kill Emily Prentiss. To revel in her screaming eyes as he unsheathed the long, silver knife. To watch her body jerk with every thrust. To feel her skin bruise beneath his fingertips. He wanted to take his time with her. He could smell her hair, feel the beat of her heart – all from a single brush, a bump in the hallway.

'Sorry.' She gave him an apologetic half-smile. His hands clenched at his sides. He couldn't kill her here, now, in the middle of a police station. At best, he could suppress the urges a day, maybe two, but then the bloodlust would come calling.

'Coffee?' she asked him. It had been almost a full day since they had found the last body, and that was no coincidence. Spencer Reid had spent his night at the police station, "helping" the profilers search through records. He didn't want them to find anything until he was ready. His grand finale was building up to a crescendo, and to interrupt it would not please him at all.

He took the proffered mug eagerly. It was hot and sweet, the way he always made it.

Beyond the bloodlust, a strange, new feeling lurked. He had never spent enough time with his victims to recognize it, but if he had to take a stab at it, he would guess it was a quasi-camaraderie. It wasn't enough to overcome the urges, but it was enough to make him hesitate, and that worried him.

Spencer Reid had never doubted himself like this before.

***

'What's up, kid?' Morgan noticed the troubled look on Spencer's face as he entered the conference room.

'What?' He had heard Morgan perfectly clearly, but wanted to give an impression of preoccupation. 'Oh, nothing…I just…Tough case.' It was an answer he knew would be readily accepted; only a mentally disturbed person would be so unaffected by a case like this. Of course, that didn't explain the nonchalance of the profilers themselves.

Morgan nodded. 'We got nothing substantial on this guy. Profile could fit a thousand different people. And do you know how hard it is to track down the neighbors of a murdered girl from fifteen years ago?' He was trying to make casual conversation, to project his consternation to the world. In reality, Spencer Reid was trying very hard not to smile.

What were the chances, that of all the people the profile could fit, he was standing next to the very man that had committed the crimes?

'Do you think he'd inject himself into the investigation?' Prentiss wondered from the door. Spencer gave a slight jump that was not altogether counterfeit. She had surprised him certainly, both with her sudden entrance, and her possible damning inquiry.

'You think?'

'Sure. He killed a woman just to get our attention, what are the chances he's trying to keep an eye on what we're doing.'

Morgan nodded. He wondered why they hadn't considered the thought before. Truth be told, they had all been stressed lately.

'Are you sure?' asked Spencer, keeping his voice as level as possible. 'Maybe he's arrogant enough that he assumes he's one step ahead of you.' He didn't have to assume.

Evidently, his words didn't convince them, for they amended the profile to suit this new theory.

'So,' suggested Morgan. 'We need a list of everyone we've spoken to, everyone who's been helping out.' He sighed – with the extensive number of victims, even a viable pool of suspects would only narrow the field slightly. There would still be a lot of names to work through.

It would take them at least the rest of the day.

Spencer found himself mentally adjusting his own plans.

***

It was almost six in the evening when Emily found herself falling asleep at the table. JJ, Hotch and Rossi were still conducting interviews, the sheer number of them overwhelming the BAU.

'Go back to the hotel,' Morgan suggested. 'Get some sleep.'

Spencer jerked his head up at this statement. This could very well be the chance he was waiting for.

'No.' Emily suppressed a yawn. 'No, I'll be fine.'

'You're no use to us if you're missing things,' Morgan argued. 'It's more beneficial that we have someone who _isn't_ dead to the world.'

She scowled at him. She knew very well that he was profiling her to a T. She was willing to make the sacrifices to get the case solved, but the seconds her sacrifices proved detrimental to the case, he knew she'd be out of there.

'I'll drive you,' Spencer offered.

He could barely conceal his glee.

***

She had almost made it too easy.

Barely ten minutes into the drive, she had dozed off, her head resting against the window.

He kept one hand steady on the wheel, and reached across to the passenger's seat with the other. She awoke just seconds after he had applied the wet rag to her face, but by then it was already too late. She had been thrown awkwardly back into unconsciousness before she could even register what had happened.

Spencer tossed the rag onto the back seat.

He was going to enjoy this.


	8. Chapter 8

Infinite Possibilities

_**When I despair, I remember that all through history the ways of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it--always.**_

_Mahatma Gandhi_

***

VIII

Her body was limp in his arms. It was a glorious feeling. The feeling that he was in complete control of the situation.

For the first few months, he had dragged the bodies. It was undesirable, but he had not yet built up the muscular capacity to carry them properly. Fortunately, he knew how to cover his tracks. Intelligence was a necessary quality for any serial killer, and Spencer Reid had it in spades.

It was unusual for him to have kept a victim this long. The majority of the time, he killed and dumped, with a minimum of fussing about. Occasionally he'd throw a few punches, leave a few marks. This time, though – he wanted this one to last forever.

He hadn't made himself easy to find. It wouldn't do for them to come knocking on his front door at two a.m. No, they'd have to dig deeper to find out where he was taking her.

Against all logic, his impulses were telling him to kill. To unsheathe that knife, and make holes in her chest. To watch the blood pour, staining her white button-up shirt. Logically, he knew that by marking her as his next victim, he would put himself right between the FBI's crosshairs. He knew that if he killed her, they would be relentless. They wouldn't stop until they had found the man that had killed Emily Prentiss.

But he knew that.

He counted on that.

***

It was almost seven by the time JJ, Hotch and Rossi returned to the police station.

'Where's Officer Reid?' was the first question Hotch asked.

'He took Emily back to the hotel. She was falling asleep at the table,' Morgan replied, his eyes fixated on the whiteboard. He didn't see the dark, almost horrified look that passed between his three colleagues.

Hotch went for the phone.

Morgan turned. 'Wait, what's going on? What do you need Officer Reid for?' He didn't miss the fear in JJ's eyes, or the carefully placed stoicism in Rossi's.

'We found a man who lived next door to Amber White fifteen years ago. He mentioned how Amber's grandfather had enlisted a boy who lived nearby to walk home from school with her. A boy named Spencer Reid. Police talked to this boy after the murder. He maintained that Amber had run from his care after they had had an argument. Kid was eleven – cops didn't really suspect that he had anything to do with it.'

'He didn't mention this,' Morgan frowned.

'No,' agreed Rossi. 'Which is why he has just become our number one suspect.'

Morgan's mouth was open in a display of helplessness. He had just let his best friend get into the car with a man that had been killing women for fifteen years. If she died, he knew he would never forgive himself.

'Hotel reception hasn't seen Emily or anyone matching Officer Reid's description,' Hotch announced, hanging up the phone. His voice had a quality of desperation to it; his team had been through enough without something like this happening.

***

Emily Prentiss awoke with her hands bound, eyes blindfolded, mouth gagged. She couldn't move, couldn't see. Could barely breathe.

Had her night really been so interesting that she had woken up like this? The last thing she remembered was almost falling asleep at the table. Though she wagered she had spent some time unconscious, her eyes were drooping, her body fatigued. But she couldn't fall asleep now. Not like this.

'Are you awake?' It was a voice that was so familiar, and yet it had a different tone to it. A long, supple hand brushed her cheek, sending her into shivers.

'Spence?' she tried to ask, but the gag impeded her words, so that the only thing that came out was a muffled utterance.

His hand descended, lover's hands rubbing against her neck. He leant down, and she could feel his breath tickling her hair.

'Was it you that wondered if I was impotent? I saw it written there, but I wasn't sure…Would you like me to prove otherwise?'

_Oh God. It's _him. Memories raced through her mind. She tried to pick out the moments where he had done something a little off, said something a little suspicious. To her consternation, she couldn't think of any. He was another Ted Bundy, extraordinary only in his normality.

She felt fingers attacking her shirt buttons, and in that moment, she closed her mind off to the world.

Whatever he was planning, it was going to be a long night.

Whatever he was planning, she sure as hell didn't want to be there.


	9. Chapter 9

Infinite Possibilities

_**Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--  
I took the one less traveled by,  
And that has made all the difference.**_

_Robert Frost_

***

IX

She couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything. She got the feeling it was nighttime, because a cold chill hung on the air. It was both a physical and a metaphorical chill; this wasn't the kind of feeling you got in line at the grocery store, or at a football game. It was the kind of chill you got when you found yourself bound, gagged and at the mercy of a serial killer.

The pain wasn't isolated. He had run the knife along the skin, slicing. Some were small wounds, some were long and jagged. None of them were immediately life-threatening, but they were all painful.

Her shirt was still unbuttoned, exposing her lower stomach to the cool air. She knew what this was. It was his attempt at humiliating her. At breaking her. All the women he killed, he thought they were mocking him, patronizing him. All it took was a few simple stabs to show them who was in charge.

Of course, that was just the profile she'd notched together here in the dark. They weren't exactly the best circumstances for ensuring optimal job performance. But then again, she'd had a similar experience in a cult compound in La Plata County, and she'd escaped that alive, more or less.

She just had to hope she could do the same here.

***

He saw the cars driving up, saw the agents come to his door, guns drawn. He gave a half-smile. He knew they'd figure it out eventually. Now all he had to do was throw them off the trail. They were looking for their missing agent, their friend. They wouldn't find her here.

He adopted a confused expression as they burst through the door. They hadn't even knocked – the nerve of them. He didn't even have time to ask them what was going on, why they had burst in. Already, he had been tackled to the ground by Morgan. A fist slammed into his face.

'WHERE IS SHE?!'

'Morgan!' It took the combined forces of Hotch and Rossi to pull Morgan off Spencer.

'Do you even know what it's like?' Morgan was yelling, but his words weren't directed at anyone in particular. 'To be so trapped and alone, not knowing if anyone's coming to get you. The constant pain, the humiliation. No-one should have to go through that. Now she's going through it a _second _time.' He looked down at Spencer, his expression one of absolute loathing. It seemed strange to think that they could be almost friends at one moment, and then bitter enemies the next.

'What's going on?' Spencer asked. To the profilers, he sounded terrified, bewildered. The voice of a man who didn't know what was going on. Or the voice of a man who conjured expressions to suit the situation.

'Agent Prentiss never made it back to the hotel,' Hotch told him. He watched the young police officer's face. Watched the creasing of his brow, the almost sudden realization. The horror. He either didn't know anything, or he had a better idea of human behavior than any of them had thought.

'I…I dropped her off in the parking lot,' he whispered. 'She wouldn't let me walk in with her. She said she didn't want to inconvenience me.' He thought that the tears were a nice touch. In his life, no-one had looked into those tear-filled eyes and see anything but innocence. No-one, that is, except the rapidly growing list of dead women.

Morgan relented, but only slightly. That did sound like Emily.

'Tell us about Amber White.' Rossi started into Spencer's eyes. Neither man flinched. 'You knew her?'

'We lived next door. I would walk her home from school most days. One day we had an argument…I went ahead. I left her there, crying. I didn't want to talk to her. And then…then I get told that they've found her body. That she's dead because I couldn't stand anyone arguing with me.' He tasted salt, and he knew that his fake tears had sealed the deal.

'Get Garcia to check the parking lot footage,' Hotch told Morgan in a low voice. 'The unsub could have gotten her there.' Spencer did not smirk, but inside he was laughing. It was a cold laugh, one simply for the sake of laughing. He knew that there were no security cameras in the parking lot. His story couldn't be contradicted by any electronic devices.

He could draw this out as long as he needed.


	10. Chapter 10

Infinite Possibilities

_**If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.**_

_Virginia Woolf_

***

X

Morgan apologized to Spencer, helped him up from the ground. The suspicion had not fully been erased from his eyes, though. He still stared at the young officer analytically, as if waiting for him to slip up. When there was no change of expression, no sudden confession, Morgan tore his gaze away.

He pulled out his phone. 'Hey Baby Girl.' His voice was subdued; his heart wasn't in it. He moved away, out of earshot. 'Can you run a check on the hotel's parking lot footage for me?'

'There is no footage,' Garcia announced. 'No cameras in the lot.'

Morgan swore. He had a thought. 'Officer Reid's car. Does it have GPS?' He would be more trusting of Spencer Reid if there was electronic evidence to back up his story. Alas, there was none.

'Okay. Two more things – I need you to email me his file. No, don't send it to them – just me. And cross-reference his name with all our other victims. If you find _anything _– anything at all – you call me. I don't care what time it is.' His voice was a little curt, but that was to be expected.

He and his fellow agents soon departed, leaving Spencer Reid to his own business.

***

He removed the gag, but left the blindfold and other bindings in place.

'Sign of remorse,' Emily spat at him.

'I'm sorry?'

'Leaving the blindfold on is a sign of remorse – it means there may be some human inside of you after all.' Spencer found himself amused. Here she was, lying bleeding in an unfamiliar place, blindfolded, and the first thing she did was profile him.

'You know,' he said. 'I'm not feeling all that remorseful.' She felt a sharp pain in her ribs as his foot slammed into her stomach. With the blindfold in place, she hadn't anticipated it.

'See,' he continued. 'If you don't know what's coming, then it's a lot more terrifying when it does come. It's the unexpected that everyone's scared of. It's why realizing that I'm your – what was the word – "unsub", is so much more menacing than a complete stranger, don't you think?'

She conceded that he had a point, but she wasn't ready to admit that to him. She needed him to reach inside himself, to draw out whatever vestiges of humanity might be lurking in there. It started with a question, of course. Always the same question.

'Why are you doing this?'

She grunted in pain as he kicked her again. The answer was not what she was looking for, but neither was it the full story.

'Because I can.'

***

When he returned to the police station, Morgan excused himself, citing his need to get coffee. He checked his email on his phone, grateful for the rapid progression of technology.

Spencer Reid was born to William and Diana Reid. With an IQ of 187, he was a certified genius; _Definitely smart enough to pull this off_, Morgan decided. He was offered the chance to fast-track his education, but William Reid had declined the proposal by proxy. William Reid then left Spencer and Diana when Spencer was ten years old.

Five years later, Diana Reid was admitted to Bennington Sanitarium. Spencer was taken in as a ward of the state.

'Hey Baby Girl.' When he called this time, his voice was softer. He felt guilty for having brushed her off previously. 'I need you to get me an address.'

***

It was not difficult for Morgan to get Hotch to send him back to the hotel. After a quick temper tantrum, the order was given without hesitation. So preoccupied by Emily's disappearance, the other members of the team had not even considered the possibility that Morgan had ulterior motives.

The drive was dark and silent, though Morgan's mind was busy with thought. Were his suspicions accurate? Was Spencer Reid really hiding something, or was he just being paranoid? These were the questions that he couldn't truthfully answer without conducting this – unauthorized – investigation.

He knocked on the door, the desert air freezing him to the bone. After several seconds, the door opened. The man before him was about fiftyish, with graying brown hair. He looked surprised to see someone at his door at this time of night. He looked surprised to see someone at his door at all.

'William Reid?' Morgan asked. The man nodded.

'My name is Derek Morgan. I'm with the FBI. I need to ask you a few questions about your son.'

The man frowned, and if Morgan were not confident of his profiling abilities, he would have dismissed the fear that seemed to have entered William's eyes.

'Spencer?' he asked. 'You want to talk to me about Spencer?'

'If you don't mind.'

William Reid stepped back to let Morgan in. The words he spoke sent a chill down the agent's spine that could not be rivaled by the nighttime weather.

'I guess I've been waiting for this a long time.'


	11. Chapter 11

Infinite Possibilities

_**To do just the opposite is also a form of imitation.**_

_Georg Christoph Lichtenberg_

***

XI

William Reid directed Morgan towards the couch. 'Can I get you anything?' he asked.

Morgan shook his head. He didn't have time for tea or biscuits. He wanted this over with as quickly as possible. He needed to know the truth. 'Just tell me what you know,' he said firmly. Firm was a tone of voice that he had a lot of practice with. It seemed to work with William. He stopped fussing about and took a seat on the lounge chair across from Morgan.

'What do you need to know?'

'Your son's childhood – was there any emotionally traumatic event that might have shaped his future?' He knew about the death of Amber White, but he was not entirely sure that William did. Spencer had mentioned that his father had left when he was ten years old. Amber White had died a year after that. In any case, Morgan was just as interested in the man's body language as he was at the answer itself.

'There was the girl,' supplied William. 'Amber, I think her name was? But that was after I left.'

'What about before you left?' If Spencer had been responsible for Amber's death, then any shaping event, anything drastic, would likely have occurred long before William's departure. While adults sometimes turned to murder without warning, in children the change was more gradual. They would start small, and then move onto bigger prey. Yes, if Spencer Reid was responsible, then William would have seen the signs.

'Spencer was – is – a very intelligent boy. At six, he was smarter than most adults. His emotional capacity was still that of a six-year-old though. The school asked me if we were interested in fast-tracking his education; he would be out of high-school by the time he was twelve. He could have been to college before he even turned seventeen. I said no. I knew that if I did that to my son, I would be forever dooming him to being an outsider. Intelligence you can hide, but physical differences are a lot harder.'

He took a deep breath, and continued.

'He didn't find the coursework challenging – we knew that would be the case. We had come to accept it as an inevitability. What we didn't expect was his ways of finding things that were challenging. He thought I didn't know. That I didn't see the animal blood on his clothes, didn't smell the smoke. I…My wife – she's schizophrenic. She couldn't do anything to help him. I tried getting him interested in other things – sports, music. He wouldn't have it. Eventually, I cracked under the pressure. I was a coward. I ran.' He had his head in his hands now, as if the guilt was finally catching up with him.

Morgan could understand the guilt. What he couldn't understand was the source of the guilt; what kind of man would abandon his wife – mentally ill – and son – quite possibly also mentally ill? He wondered what would have happened if perhaps William Reid had stayed. Or if William Reid had made a different decision regarding his son's education.

Would Spencer Reid be a different man? Would he be healthy, and well-adjusted, as opposed to sociopathic? It came down to a case of nature versus nurture; which had the greatest influence was all dependent on the person. Morgan didn't know enough about Spencer Reid to know if he could be a different person.

All he knew was that he had an idea of who Spencer Reid was now, and he didn't like it one bit.

***

It was difficult to get comfortable when you were tied up and hurting everywhere. If she rolled onto her stomach, she knew she would aggravate the ribs that were most certainly broken. Rolling onto her back would be awkward in part due to her bound hands. Rolling to one side would mean putting strain on a long gash in her abdomen. She tried the other side, and found it to be the least painful – the lesser of four evils, as it were.

He had left her to her own devices hours ago; he was probably sleeping at this point. She wished that she could be afforded the same luxury. After two hours of trying to get even a minute's sleep, she gave up. She tried to pull herself up, though that was complicated by the rope that dug into her skin. It took almost half an hour and over a dozen failed attempts before she found herself leaning against the wall, breathing heavily.

The blindfold was still firmly in place, so sound, touch, taste and smell were the only senses available to her. She shuffled slowly along the wall, feeling for a doorknob, a window, anything that might facilitate an escape.

She hadn't heard him come in. Hadn't heard the sound of the door opening. He had mastered the art of stealth. 'You won't find a way out.' She jumped backwards slightly at the sound of his voice, her head hitting the wall. She anticipated the pain that he was about to inflict.

Even anticipating it though, was never adequate preparation.

She lost all semblance of perception when something hard and heavy struck the back of her head.


	12. Chapter 12

Infinite Possibilities

_**We can't take any credit for our talents. It's how we use them that counts.**_

_Madeline L'Engle_

***

XII

He sat beside her unconscious form, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Even in this state, he could hear the slow rasping of her breath. She was still alive – for now. He knew how easy it would be to end it. A quick thrust to the chest and it would all be over. But then what would he do? Kidnap another? The blond, maybe? No; he wanted a little more fun with this one first. It was more personal to him. It would be more entertaining to see her suffer.

He touched the back of her head gently, belying his murdering nature. Dark curls stuck to the skin, matted with blood. At the very least, she'd have a concussion – at worst, there might be brain damage; she would be impaired, just like his mother.

Truth told, he did feel some affection for his mother. She was the one person who never talked down to him, never made him feel like he was worthless. Seeing his mother sent away was one of the hardest things Spencer Reid had ever endured. He had gotten his revenge, though. The woman who had registered her concern was now buried in a shallow grave in the desert sands; it wasn't until his later kills that he began using the dump site that was undergoing investigation.

This was his revenge to the world that had scorned him.

***

It was nearly 11 p.m when Morgan returned to the hotel. He found Hotch lurking outside his room. The penny dropped.

'I sent you back to the hotel.' Hotch's words were relatively calm, but by no means free from the apprehension he was feeling.

'I…I needed to drive around a bit. Collect my thoughts.' Morgan knew that his superior would immediately see through the lie. Without any prompt from the Unit Chief, Morgan continued. 'I went to see Officer Reid's father.'

Hotch's expression immediately soured. 'Why?'

'I needed to know the truth. I can't just sit around doing nothing while he – someone – is out there hurting her, Hotch. I can't.'

'We work as a team, Derek. If you can't trust us to help…' The implications of his words were clear. If there was no trust between them, then they weren't really a team at all.

'I know…I'm sorry, I had to know. You had all dismissed him.' He sounded exasperated. They kept their voices low, unwilling to wake the other hotel patrons.

'So tell us, Derek. We aren't going to dismiss your opinion. We are doing whatever it takes to find Emily.'

Morgan stared at him critically; they were standing in a hotel corridor. He doubted there was anything_ less_ useful they could have been doing.

'We're all on edge. We're missing things. We're not going to be of any use to Emily if werun ourselves ragged following up on dead leads.' Morgan opened his mouth, about to protest, but Hotch silenced him and continued. 'I'm not saying your avenue of investigation was worthless. Tell me what you discovered.'

Morgan repeated verbatim what William Reid had told him.

'Signs of psychopathy,' nodded Hotch. 'That's consistent with the profile.'

'High verbal intelligence, but lacking in emotional intelligence. Superficial charm. Pathological lying. Need for stimulation. Lack of remorse.' Morgan counted off symptoms on his fingers.

'But still,' Hotch frowned. 'We can't arrest him because he shows signs of fitting the profile. You know how this works; he wants to outsmart us, and that's not going to happen if he knows that we know.' "If he's the unsub," were the words that he did not add.

'The clinical diagnosis suggests a lack of long term planning,' Morgan said. 'He might be intelligent, but if we do something unexpected, it might throw him off. Cause him to make a mistake.'

'It could cause him to kill her,' Hotch countered. 'If you want to trust us to run with this avenue of investigation, then he can't know. Do you, Morgan?'

Morgan furrowed his brow. 'Do I what?'

'Trust us?'

He thought about the team. About the people who he worked with day in, day out. He thought about Emily, about what she was going through. He had his answer.

'Yes,' he answered. 'I trust you.'

**A/N: A short one, yes, but I couldn't bear to let it finish any other way. Another chapter when I get the chance, but a nice review would encourage me.**

**Hint, hint.**


	13. Chapter 13

Infinite Possibilities

_**All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.**_

_Edmund Burke_

***

XIII

At Hotch's orders, Morgan held off on continuing his solo mission. He hoped that doing so would not prevent him from saving Emily. He stood quietly in the conference room, staring at the blackboard.

'Morgan.' Hotch's voice was soft – softer than Morgan had ever heard it – but it still made him jump.

'I…did you find something?' he asked, the exasperation evident in his voice.

Hotch lowered his head, and Morgan's heart skipped a beat. This couldn't be anything good. He led Morgan out of the conference room, as if he was a child needing to be guided. So overcome with apprehension, he didn't even notice where Hotch was taking him.

It wasn't the location that was important, Morgan realized the moment Hotch handed him a sealed evidence bag.

'This was left at the front desk in an envelope marked "FBI." There's no record of anything being left behind on camera.'

Morgan was still clutching the bag, afraid to actually look inside; was it a finger? An ear? He knew the kinds of things kidnappers usually sent to taunt the LEOs, the families of the victims. He felt with his fingers, looking down only when he was convinced that the contents of the bag were not of bodily origin.

The once gold chain was now red; there was not one inch of the necklace that had not been stained with blood.

'She hasn't worn this in over two years,' said Morgan softly. He stared at the tiny cross, finding bitter irony in the whole situation; the juxtaposition of faith and despair were in grave contrast.

Hotch nodded. He knew. Morgan continued to speak anyway.

'She took it off the day Gideon died. Said that if she couldn't have faith in cosmic justice, she couldn't have faith in anything.' There was something deeper in his words, as if he didn't believe that she had truly lost faith altogether. Hotch raised this matter, and Morgan furrowed his brow before answering.

'She kept it in her pocket. Just waiting for someone to prove to her that there was some order in the universe, that what we do matters, that good conquers evil.' He profiled her thoughts with ease, Hotch noticed. And then the Unit Chief realized – Morgan knew what Emily was thinking because he was thinking the same things.

He was questioning his own faith.

***

In her strange, dark cell, Emily Prentiss was not undergoing a crisis of faith. Even if she was in less pain, if her head throbbed a little less, then she wouldn't have considered asking herself why this was happening. She knew very well that bad things happened to good people, and she knew that that was one thing that was very wrong with the world.

Right now, though, she lacked the cognitive ability to process this information. She was stuck in a limbo, partway between consciousness and unconsciousness. Her eyes were open behind the blindfold, but she had shut away the outside world. Right now, Emily was focused on staying alive, on staying sane, even if it cost her capacity for emotion. Compartmentalization at its finest.

He had left almost an hour ago. She had been just responsive enough to notice the sound of a door slamming. She had not heard it open since. She was alone in the darkness.

If she were to be rescued right at this second – if the team were to come bursting through the door, rip off the blindfold, untie the hands, bandage the wounds, heal the physical pain – she didn't know if any of it would make a difference.

She knew she had willingly thrown herself into this dark place, this funeral pyre, to survive. Getting in there had been the easy bit.

Getting out would be the problem.

**A/N: Again, sorry for the shortness. It's been a long week, and I'm sorry I didn't have this up sooner. The story is drawing to a close, but keep in mind that there may or may not be a sequel. How's that for inconclusive?**


	14. Chapter 14

Infinite Possibilities

_**We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, therefore, is not an act, but a habit.**_

_Aristotle_

***

XIV

If Derek Morgan were to be perfectly honest with himself, he had been wary of the mentally ill ever since his experiences with Tobias Henkel. The days of torture, of fear, had scarred him more deeply than any physical weapon ever could.

To go inside Bennington Sanitarium would bring back memories he had tried for so long to suppress. He knew that he was in no danger there, that true multiple personality disorder was incredibly rare, and even then, the patients at Bennington were kept under close watch. He knew that the majority of them were non-violent.

Despite his rationalization, he knew that on a normal day, he would have been the last person to volunteer for this interview. But today was not a normal day.

Today, he would put aside his fear, his doubt. He would put them aside to save the life of his friend. He knew that after his outburst last night, his was the only explainable absence. For all the police knew, he was in his hotel room, letting off steam. There was already some animosity between the locals and the Bureau; knocking down an officer's door in the middle of the night was not considered a particularly respectful move.

It was a quiet drive. He had grown so used to Emily sitting in the passenger's seat, talking to him animatedly about a book she had read, or a movie she had seen. There was a camaraderie between them, a solidarity that was the result of their similar experiences. She opened up to him in a way she did no-one else. She trusted him.

And he was not about to betray that trust.

***

All eyes were on Spencer Reid as he walked into the conference room. He tried to give off an air of hesitation, as if he was unsure whether or not he was still welcome. Both Rossi and JJ attempted to greet him cheerfully; he was not sure if their failure to smile was the result of their missing teammate, or the fact that they still suspected him. He was fairly sure that it was the former.

Aaron Hotchner did not even attempt to smile. He could not even look Spencer in the eye, for fear his anger would show. If Morgan's suspicions were right – if Spencer was responsible for Emily's disappearance – then there would be hell to pay. No-one messed with Hotch's team and got away unscathed.

The necklace was their only lead. Forensics had confirmed that the DNA belonged to one Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss. Beyond that, there was no evidence that supported or denied Morgan's theory. Hotch had Garcia scouring the video footage, looking for any person who could have – surreptitiously or otherwise – left the envelope at the front desk. He knew as well as anyone that evidence did not just appear.

He had yet to inform Rossi and JJ of Morgan's covert mission. He would pull them away quietly later, tell them in secret. It was no use telling them when the object of the conversation was standing not four feet from them, pouring copious amounts of sugar into his coffee.

Hotch averted his gaze as Spencer looked up from his coffee mug.

Spencer saw dark eyes jerking to avoid confrontation. _They know_.

_But they don't want me to know that they know._

Spencer Reid suppressed a smirk.

It didn't matter.

He was ready.

***

Morgan gripped the necklace that was in his pocket. Hotch had given it to him, knowing that – in light of the non-existent trace evidence – that it would be more useful in keeping Morgan faithful. The profiler had washed the blood clean as best as he could. He wanted to remember the cross as it had been; not covered with dried blood. It was his safety net.

'Special Agent Morgan, FBI. I need to speak with one of your patients.'

He sat impatiently in the lobby while an orderly fetched Diana Reid. The secretary gave him an irritated look as he tapped his foot against the linoleum floors. He shot back his own dirty look, but said nothing. He didn't have time for a grudge match.

Diana Reid looked crestfallen when she saw who her visitor was. 'You're not Spencer,' she said, analyzing Morgan's appearance.

'I need to speak to you about Spencer, Mrs. Reid. Would that be alright?'

She smiled almost dreamily.

'Oh, I can tell you a lot of things about Spencer.'


	15. Chapter 15

Infinite Possibilities

_**A happy childhood has spoiled many a promising life.**_

_Robertson Davies_

***

XV

Morgan found himself growing impatient. He toyed with the cross in his pocket, as if afraid he would explode if he let go of it. He understood that Diana Reid loved her son, and that she regarded his childhood as an event of historical importance; he thought that a good majority of the staff and patients in the Bennington Sanatorium knew everything there was to know about Spencer Reid. He failed to understand the significance of Spencer losing a tooth at the age of eight, which happened to be the tale Diana had just told.

'Mrs. Reid…' Her voice faltered as he interrupted. There was a saddened expression on her face, as if she believed that he was not interested in what she was saying. 'We're…Spencer is missing.' He hated lying to her, but he knew that if he told the truth, that her son was a suspected serial killer, then she would be far less forthcoming. 'We need to know if there is anywhere important from Spencer's childhood. Anywhere he might go if he were feeling angry, or scared.'

Diana cocked her head. 'Spencer is missing?' she repeated his words, as if wondering of their truthfulness.

'Yes. We can only find him with your help.' He let the words hang in the air.

'Well,' she started, 'There is one place.'

***

Morgan drove as fast as he dared, attempting to navigate the roads and call Hotch at the same time. At this speed, it would only take him ten minutes to reach his destination. He dared to put his foot down just a little bit harder; thanks to the sirens, other cars were already giving him a wide berth.

'Hotch!' He almost yelled the name, as if the Unit Chief could not hear him if he talked at a normal volume.

'Calm down, Morgan.' Hotch spoke hypocritically; his own voice was filled with barely suppressed panic.

'I think I've got a location.' He didn't know what he would do if she was not at this place that Diana Reid had described. "Kill Spencer Reid" was probably high on that list. He rattled off the address of the dilapidated house that Diana Reid had given him.

The fact that the house was in a residential area unnerved him. Surely the neighbors would have heard screams. He tried to reassure himself; perhaps they didn't hear the screams because she had been drugged, or gagged. Perhaps he had cut her tongue from her mouth, that sadistic smile almost painted on his face. He shuddered. That thought was a little less reassuring.

'I'll send some people out,' Hotch told him.

Morgan frowned, swerving to avoid a dog that had run out in front of him. 'You aren't coming?'

He heard the tone of Hotch's voice, and was, for a moment, relieved that he was on the other end of a phone line. 'I'm going to stay here with Spencer. Arrest him if you find any damning evidence.' The way he said the word evidence terrified Morgan. Would they find a body? Would they find a shivering wreck, incapable of recovery? Would they find blood, and nothing else?

He didn't know, and he didn't want to wait around to find out.

The speedometer edged just a little further over the speed limit.

***

Light streamed into the dark house as Morgan kicked the door open. He did not believe that Reid had an accomplice, that there were any hostiles in this place, but he had his weapon drawn anyway.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he thought there would be far fewer serial killers in the world if abandoned homes were demolished.

'Emily?' His voice echoed; if he were to trust the atmosphere of the house, he would say that there was no-one alive there anymore. He ignored that gut feeling, taking careful footsteps across the rotting wood.

The first floor was clear; nothin alive except a few rats that he kept his distance from.

He took the stairs as fast as he could without snapping the wooden boards.

'Emily?' he tried again. His voice was softer this time, more fearful. Surely if she were awake, she would have answered by now.

He found her in the third room. The locked door had splintered with a hard kick, and he found himself rushing to the opposite end of the room.

She looked dead, that was his first thought. Her shirt hung open, baring a stomach that was purple with bruises. The shirt itself, once a pale blue, had been stained red with blood from the multitude of cuts that adorned her body. Her hands were tied behind her back, her eyes blindfolded. The back of her head was bleeding.

'Emily?' He untied the rope that secured her hands, removed the blindfold. He put his fingers to the side of her neck, almost collapsing in joy when he felt the skin flutter slightly beneath his touch. A heartbeat.

It took all his strength not to pull her into his arms right there. He didn't want to aggravate her injuries, so he settled on taking her hand and squeezing it tightly. The slight action seemed to jerk her into consciousness.

'Morgan?' she blinked twice, unsure if what she was seeing was real. It wouldn't surprise her if she started hallucinating at this point.

'I'm here, Em. It's okay. It's all going to be okay.' He tried to reassure her, but even that did not remove the deadness that had overcome her expression.

He squeezed her hand a little tighter, and then pulled out his phone to call Hotch.


	16. Chapter 16

Infinite Possibilities

_**Do not protect yourself by a fence, but rather by your friends.**_

_Czech Proverb_

***

XVI

She leaned backwards into the crook of Morgan's shoulder. Though it aggravated her wounds, it also instilled a safe, warm feeling inside of her, and right now, she felt that was more important than physical wellbeing.

He asked her the extent of her injuries, and she did not answer, instead staring at the wooden planks that constituted the ceiling.

'Emily?' He spoke her name gently, not wanting to send her into shock.

'I...I can't talk about it right now,' she said. It was enough for Morgan to realize that whatever it was, it was not going to be the easiest thing to speak about, or recover from.

They had both been there for each other in traumatic circumstances. She was there for him after he had been kidnapped by Tobias Henkel; he had reached out to the person he knew the least, afraid of what the rest of the teams' reactions might have been. He had reciprocated after the events with Benjamin Cyrus.

Though it was silent, he knew she was crying. She had tried so hard to hold them back the last time, only succumbing when Morgan had held her tightly, had reassured her that it was over.

He checked his phone, noting the recent text message from Rossi. 'The ambulance will be here soon,' he told her. She nodded.

He almost regretted not having been there for the inevitable takedown of Spencer Reid. He had called Hotch with the news over ten minutes ago, but had not yet heard back as to the status of the arrest.

He hoped fervently that Hotch might have gotten in a few kicks to the ribs, that Spencer had "resisted arrest." His heart was filled with anger at the pain that sadistic bastard had inflicted upon his best friend. If he had his way, he would not have hesitated in giving Spencer Reid some brand new ventilation.

Which, he rationalized, was probably the reason why he couldn't be present for the takedown.

***

He did not let go of her hand as she was loaded into the ambulance. He was not going to leave her alone for another week at least. He would be there for the ups, and he would be there for the downs.

He watched on numbly as doctors and nurses flittered about her bedside. He had taken thirty seconds to grab himself a coffee, and he realized, at the actions of one doctor, that something must have happened in those thirty seconds.

'What are you doing?' He made an attempt at sounding casual, but he saw the contents of the case the doctor was unpacking. He had seen enough of those cases before in his lifetime.

'Rape kit,' the doctor told him apologetically. Morgan could not help the tears from entering his eyes as he looked down at her. She, too, was trying hard not to burst into uncontrollable sobs.

'I'll go,' he said. He knew that the kit involved stripping, and his presence was not something he wanted to impose upon her at this point in time.

'No.' She stared at him, the struggle clear in her eyes. 'Please stay.'

He wanted to hug her, to let her know that everything would be alright. For one thing, though, he knew that would disturb the evidence. For another, he wasn't confident in his own assessment.

Instead, he pulled the cross from his pocket, and laid it gently on the table beside the bed.

'I'll never leave you,' was all he said.

***

The moment Morgan made his first phone call, Hotch had sent the remainder of the team out to the address given. He had stayed behind, not wanting the apprehension of a suspect to be left entirely to the suspect's colleagues.

He was unsure of the location of Officer Spencer Reid. The young man had gone to "get coffee" just prior to Morgan's phone call, and had not returned since. To chase after him now would be no good without any proof whatsoever that he was the one who had kidnapped and tortured Emily.

Moments after Morgan had made the second phone call, Hotch was on the move. He had his weapon drawn, and he was looking for Spencer Reid around every corner. The startled officers were far more forthcoming to his cause when he explained the situation.

'Reid? I think I saw him go out to the parking lot.'

Hotch made an executive decision. Spencer Reid was far from unintelligent. He would not go out into the parking lot for no reason whatsoever. He was torn between wanting to arrest the son of a bitch that had kidnapped his agent, and preserving the safety of the officers around him. Finally, he made a decision.

'I'm going out there alone.'

***

He had Spencer in his sights. The young man was at the edge of the parking lot, staring off into the distance.

'You've found her, I take it?' he asked, not even turning. 'I toyed with killing her, you know. It would have been worth it just to see the look on your face.'

'Why didn't you?' Hotch asked. As much as he wanted to arrest this man, he wanted – needed – to know why they had gone through this in the first place.

Spencer Reid would not readily admit to having been caught off guard. The truth was, though, he had not expected the FBI to move so fast in solving the case. He was not about to explain to this man that, yes, he had been planning on killing her, but only after days of excruciating pain.

He turned around then, and Hotch, expecting to see a weapon, was surprised when Spencer Reid held his wrists out, waiting to be cuffed. 'I don't know,' he said, the lie not even close to evident in his voice. 'I suppose...it goes back to my childhood.'

Hotch raised an eyebrow as he tightened the cuffs around Reid's wrists.

'Your childhood?' He was curious, in spite of himself.

'Yes.' Spencer Reid looked down at his hands. 'As a child, I always loved magic tricks.'

The cuffs were undone before Hotch even had a chance to realize what was going on. He reached for his weapon, but his face was intercepted by Spencer's fist. He stepped back, dizzy. The second punch knocked him out cold.

'Goodbye, Agent Hotchner,' said Spencer Reid. 'It was a pleasure to meet you.'

He knew that the BAU would not rest until Spencer Reid was caught.

But that was okay.

He was counting on it.

THE END.

**a/n: too lazy to do a proper author's note, leave any questions in a review or a pm and I'll get back to you.**


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